


cards on the table (we're both showing hearts)

by always_a_queen



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M, Female Oliver Queen, Genderswap, Oral Sex, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-08
Updated: 2015-09-08
Packaged: 2018-04-19 16:11:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4752662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/pseuds/always_a_queen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia's always been a bit of a happy drunk. "Maybe she just had really bad lovers."<br/>"I do believe I've just been offended, Queen, what makes you think I couldn't have been the best she ever had?"<br/>Liv scoffs. "Well, it's not like <i>I</i> went down on her."<br/>"Is that a challenge I'm hearing?" Tommy asks.</p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Or: Smutty Genderbent Party Boys. Tommy Merlyn and Olivia Queen explore the boundaries and benefits of best friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	cards on the table (we're both showing hearts)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Abbie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Abbie/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Shēngcún](https://archiveofourown.org/works/943383) by [always_a_queen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/always_a_queen/pseuds/always_a_queen). 



> A really long time ago I wrote a [Arrow S1 AU that genderswapped Oliver and Felicity](http://archiveofourown.org/works/943383/chapters/1840451). In that fic there was a throwaway bit of prose that alluded to something I'm pretty sure is true in any universe: Oliver(Olivia) Queen and Tommy Merlyn were never platonic in the strictest sense of the word. This fic is the result of thinking about the implications of this _way_ too much.
> 
> Whether you want to read this fic as something set prior to Olivia getting on the Gambit in that 'verse or not is 100% up to you.
> 
> Title is from All of Me by John Legend.

All Olivia knows is that it starts because Malcolm Merlyn is a son of a bitch. Tommy's upset; Liv doesn't know what happened, just that Malcolm is a bastard and Tommy deserves better.

They meet at the Merlyn’s house—since apparently whatever happened ended with Malcolm leaving again. Tommy has the tequila, and Olivia brings salt and limes. She lets him vent for a while, listening quietly and encouraging him to lick the salt off of her skin.

They're a bit more than pleasantly buzzed when the topic of sex comes up. Later, Olivia won't remember how it happened. The conversation blurs into something non-linear and the route they take to their destination is muddled by alcohol and laughter.

All Liv knows is that one minute they're laughing about a horrible pick-up line someone tried on her last week, and then the next minute Tommy is explaining how his last partner told him he gave the best oral she'd ever had.

"I doubt that," Liv says, feeling loose and a little carefree. Her words are sort of slipping from her mouth effortlessly, and she's not quite sure how to stop them or if she even really wants to. It's kind of nice not to worry about it, to just say whatever is on her mind.

She's always been a bit of a happy drunk. "Maybe she just had really bad lovers."

"I do believe I've just been offended, Queen, what makes you think I couldn't have been the best she ever had?"

Liv scoffs. "Well, it's not like I went down on her."

"Is that a challenge I'm hearing?" Tommy asks.

Liv's head is in his lap, and he's stroking her hair, running his fingers through the silky brown strands. "Maybe. Are you up for it?"

He gives her a grin, but uncharacteristically leaves the innuendo alone. Everything goes into another blur after that, but what Liv remembers is this:

They stay on the couch. Tommy's the one who undresses her. He never kisses her lips, but he sucks on her earlobe and kisses her neck while he unsnaps her bra. He pays a good amount of attention to her breasts, firmly caressing them, brushing his knuckles across the tips of her nipples, laving at them with his tongue.

She tries not to whimper; she really does. The sound slips out before she can stop it, and Tommy pauses—pauses, the bastard—to grin at her.

"Don't look so smug,” she says, more than a little breathless, but still trying to hide it.

Absentmindedly, Tommy starts to every-so-slightly roll her right nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and Liv bites her lip because mmmm yes.

A different guy, a different situation, and she certainly wouldn't be biting back the urge to tell him to do it again.

But they made a bet, so the normal rules don't apply, and no way is she helping him any more than her traitorous body is already.

He repeats the action with her left breast anyway, and she's so distracted by it she barely notices that he's flicked open the button of her jeans until his hand is sliding beneath the lace of her panties.

And then there’s nothing for her but to notice. All she can focus on is how he’s touching her.

“How do you touch yourself, Liv?” he says, and his voice is low and his lips are right next to her ear. “What do you like?”

She doesn’t answer, too busy trying not to make a sound that will give away just how much she likes what he’s doing right now. “Not—” she breathes in sharply. “Not helping you.”

He hums. Sucks another kiss onto her neck.

And he stops moving his fingers. “But you like this.”

The tiny whimper slips through her lips before she can stop it. Tommy seems to take that as a sign of agreement and starts slowly moving his hand again.

Olivia bucks her hips, then freezes. Tommy chuckles, breath hot against her neck. The hand not in her underwear cups her chin, turns her face to him. He presses his forehead to hers, and Olivia finds herself fighting the urge to close her eyes, touch her mouth to his.

“Look at me, Livvy.”

She does, without a second of hesitation. She looks at him while he slowly backs away, while he hooks his fingers in the band of her jeans and tugs them off of her legs. Her underwear follows them a second later. She doesn’t look away when he gently pushes her legs apart, doesn’t look away when he pulls her towards the edge of the couch, sinks to his knees in front of her.

And she certainly doesn’t look away when he puts his mouth on her.

She does, however, let out a soft moan as she sinks back into the couch cushions.

She’s lost this already. She doesn’t really care.

For all the ways he’s touched her, she really hasn’t touched him, and suddenly she very much wants to. Her only real option at the moment is sliding her fingers through his hair. She doesn’t tighten her hand into a fist, doesn’t pull at all. Just sinks her fingers in and brushes the strands back. It’s almost a caress.

Almost.

He’s going so so slow. So steady. He's on his knees in front of her, but she feels like the one surrendering to him. Especially when she moves her hips, and Tommy puts his arm across her middle to keep her still.

Pleasure crests over her. Lost in it, she spirals higher, arching her back.

Tommy makes a low sound against her, and it sends a shudder coursing through her body. That's the moment he carefully slips a finger inside her.

“Tommy," she whispers, and it's the first time since they started this that she's said his name.  It occurs to her that she has absolutely no idea how much of an effect this is having on him.

He recovers nicely, taking the opportunity to add a second finger and curl them both in such a way that Olivia sees stars.

He doesn't so much bring her to the edge as he does slowly coax her there. It's altogether too easy to just let him.

And she's so close. So very very close all she needs is a little bit more and she's going to—

He backs off. Eases up.

She swears at him as he leans back and glances up at her. "What do you want, Liv?"

"Want you to just fucking let me come," she whines, desperate for something more, anything more.

"Tell me, Liv," he says, and he pushes himself up on his knees so that he's right there, right in front of her. "What do you want?"

And it hits her in this single moment of complete and utter clarity.

"Please," she whispers. "Please kiss me, Tommy, please—"

And he does, hot and wet and open-mouthed while his fingers keep a steady pace inside her. His thumb brushes against her clit, but he swallows down the sounds she makes. One of Olivia's hands is still in his hair, and the other she fists in the material of his shirt.

He stops kissing her long enough to whisper, “Come on, Liv,” and that’s all it takes. Tommy keeps touching her as she sobs her way through her orgasm, and they’re both shaking as it courses through her.

His thumb stays pressed against her clit, making the tiniest back and forth movements that are just the right kind of too much. She reaches for his wrist to make him stop.

"Shhhhh," he says softly. "I've got you. I've got you."

And the second one hits her, less like an unstoppable force and more like a gentle wave. She hides her face in his shoulder, closes her eyes and breathes in the scent of him as she comes down. One of his hands ghosts up her spine.

“Fuck,” Olivia mutters.

“I’m game if you’re game,” Tommy says, and Olivia is all-too-familiar with the fact that his light tone belies actual sincerity.

She shifts in his arms so she can quickly kiss the corner of his mouth. “You may have to give me a minute.”

When she reaches for his belt, he stops her. "You don't have to."

"I want to," she says.

"Not part of the bet," he points out, but his gaze has dropped to her mouth and her quick fingers have already undone his belt.

"Tommy," she says, pausing to kiss his mouth again lightly. "Fuck the bet."

"Yeah?" he says, and the word is so quiet and so hopeful that her heart sort of flips in her chest.

"Yeah," she says. "Fuck me instead."

She doesn’t have to tell him twice.

* * *

 

Tommy could swear his heart is beating so loudly that Liv can hear it. He’s also pretty sure his brain short-circuited somewhere between the moment Olivia begged him to kiss her and the moment he finally did.

And if that wasn’t the moment it happened, feeling her climax around his fingers certainly was.

He feels drunk on more than just the tequila. He feels drunk on Olivia, on her taste in his mouth and the glint in her eyes when she says, "Fuck me instead." Her lips are an inch away from his mouth and her voice is so low he almost doesn’t recognize it.

One of them closes the almost non-existent distance between them and Tommy could swear he has never savored a kiss quite this much before. She’s fucking intoxicating.

And there’s just too much of her to hold in his hands, so he lets them wander everywhere. She’s all lean muscle beneath soft skin, sensitive to every touch.

He kisses her bare shoulder while she finishes pulling his belt through the loops. She tosses it on the floor, and impatiently pulls up on his shirt. He lifts his arms above his head to help her.  As soon as his shirt’s out of the way, she’s kissing him again, easy and slow. He cups the back of her neck with his hand while she reaches around behind him to slide both her hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

His head is so muddled by naked Olivia Queen making out with him that it takes him a second to realize that she’s also going for the condom in his wallet at the same time she’s grabbing his ass.

While she digs around in his wallet, Tommy stands up and works on shucking off his jeans. When he looks at Olivia again, she’s got the condom in hand and is standing in front of him.

He takes her face in both his hands and kisses her because he can. Because she’s right there and beautiful. It’s the least artful way he’s ever kissed a woman in his life, far from practiced, but she kisses him back and dips her hand past the elastic band of his briefs.

It’s all he can do to keep kissing her while she’s touching him like that, gentle and steady. Eventually he breaks the kiss and drops his head down to rest on her shoulder.

“Dammit, Liv.” He kisses her neck.

She chuckles, bending at the knees so she can drag his underwear down his legs and roll on the condom. “It’s my turn.”

“I think it’s actually technically mine,”  he says playfully as she stands. He uses his hands on her hips to walk her backwards. When they reach the couch, Tommy hesitates for a moment, but Olivia just falls back and pulls him down on top of her, laughing as she does.

Brushing her hair out of her face as he stares at her, Tommy gives himself a moment to just take her in. Olivia’s always been larger than life to him. Always the life of the party, the center of attention, always catching every eye in the room. Everyone sees Olivia Queen.

Nobody knows her.

Except Tommy. And he does know her, knows the depths of her that hide beneath an easy smile and the careful facade she puts on in order to face the limelight.

“You gonna just stare at me all night?” she asks, just a hint of challenge in her voice.

“I could,” he says, and he means it. He could.

Instead he kisses her neck, lines himself up, and slides inside her. Her mouth drops open, and her eyes drop shut. She feels amazing, perfect. She feels like home.

"Liv," he says, and all it takes is the word for her eyes to snap open again, lock on his.

“You good?” he asks.

“Yeah,” she says, wrapping her arms around him, running her fingers through his hair. "So good."

"Move," he tells her—begs her—and he watches in delight as a blissful expression settles on her face. She complies with a sharp gasp, tormenting him with small, lazy movements of her hips.

“C’mon,” Olivia says, pressing her heels into his back and a kiss to his jaw. “C’mon, harder. You’re not gonna fucking break me.”

He’s not sure how long he loses himself in her, how long he slips out of his own head and just lets everything wash over him, lets himself fall farther faster.

"Can you come like this, Liv?" He keeps his lips right by her ear, thrusts into her at a slightly quicker pace, encouraged by the sounds she makes in response. "Hm? Can you come with just this? Or do you need more?"

"More." She digs her fingernails into his shoulder blades. "More please, Tommy."

Far be it from him to deny her anything. He kisses her. Rocks into her. Slips his tongue in her mouth and drags a hand down her body to press his fingers to her clit, rubbing gentle circles just the way he’s figured out she likes.

Her response is instantaneous, and it sends a thrill right through him. “You ready to come for me, Livvy?”

She climaxes around him with a scream, raking her fingernails down his back as he follows her. (He’d follow her anywhere, follow her to the moon and back if that’s where she was going.)

Olivia pulls him down against her so that his head rests against her chest. He can feel every breath, hear every beat of her heart. He feels her kiss the top of his head, and he knows he’ll have to move eventually. He just doesn’t want to. He feels warm and satisfied and loved, and he doesn’t want to leave that before he has to.

Getting up to take care of the condom saps the rest of his energy. When he comes back to the couch, Olivia’s still stretched out across it, closer to the front edge than the back cushions.

He slips behind her, pulls her close against him, lets their bodies mold together. With one hand he reaches up to grab the blanket draped across the back of the couch and awkwardly arrange it over them both. When he puts his arms around her again, Olivia hums softly, halfway to sleep.

Tommy kisses the nape of her neck, closes his eyes, and drifts away with her.

* * *

Olivia wakes up with a splitting headache.

Sunlight is a bit too much to handle, so she wiggles and twists until she’s turned around in Tommy’s arms. He mumbles something she doesn’t understand, and sleepily kisses her on the forehead.

“Don’t go,” he whispers.

“Not going anywhere,” she says.

Still, his arms are solid and secure around her, and she feels warm and safe. Nestling closer, Olivia shuts her eyes and goes back to sleep.

When she wakes up again, Tommy’s gone, but there’s a glass of water and a bottle of aspirin on the floor in front of the couch. She swallows a pill down with a mouthful of water and combs her fingers through her hair. Tommy’s shirt is closer to the couch than hers, and she drags it over with her toes. Olivia slips into it, takes another sip of water, and wanders off in the direction of the kitchen.

The Merlyn house is always eerily quiet; it lacks the large staff constantly bustling around the Queen’s Mansion. But then, it’s usually only Tommy here anyway.

She finds him in the kitchen cracking eggs into a bowl.

“Hey,” Olivia says, leaning against the doorway. She can count on one hand the amount of times she’s been a nervous wreck during the morning after, and she refuses to add this morning to the total.

Besides. This is Tommy. On the list of people she needs to be nervous around, he’s at the bottom. He probably doesn’t even make the cut.

But she is, just a little. Just because if anyone on earth could fuck this up, she’d be the one.

Tommy flashes her a quick smile. It deepens in affection when his eyes drop a little and she knows he’s noticed whose shirt she’s wearing. “I’m making eggs,” he says. “And there’s coffee. And toast.”

The coffee sounds the most tempting, and Olivia chooses to head towards that rather than do the thing that fucks up 99% of her relationships and open her mouth. She’s familiar enough with Tommy’s kitchen that doctoring her coffee just how she likes it isn’t a problem, and by the time she sits down at the island, he’s scooping eggs onto plates and dropping slices of toast next to them.

It strikes her—two sips of coffee in with her head starting to clear—that Tommy isn’t going to talk about this.

Tommy is going to just waltz through their typical hangover routine scared that she’s going to reject him any minute. Tommy is going to ignore this, whether it’s something he wants or not.

Unless she says something.

Oliva’s always been better at actions than words. Better at doing things than saying them. So when Tommy sets the frying pan back down on the stove and starts walking back to her—and to breakfast—she meets him halfway.

He doesn’t respond immediately when she kisses him. (Actually he sort of turns his head for a second like he’s expecting her lips to land on his cheek instead.) Olivia’s patient though and insistent, and yes, sometimes incredibly pushy when it comes to getting Tommy Merlyn to do what she wants.

She knows how to make him melt. By the second kiss his eyes are closed and his hand is sliding teasingly up her bare thigh, under the hem of his shirt.

Kissing him is even better in the daylight.

He breaks the kiss, but he keeps one hand on her thigh and the other arm wrapped tight against her waist, pressing her close. “So we’re—” She kisses his jaw, and his eyes fall shut— “Liv, what are we doing?”

She lifts a shoulder in a half-shrug. “Letting the eggs get cold.”

Grinning, Tommy grabs the undersides of her thighs and lifts her up. She wraps her legs around his waist to secure her position and laughs as he carries her upstairs.

They never make it back to the eggs.


End file.
